


Phoenix Rising

by maya_lev



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maya_lev/pseuds/maya_lev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire must have her and from ashes she must rise. The Red God awaits.  R'hllor awaits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The suspicion that she was being watched was growing stronger with each step she took. 

It was quite laughable. Here she was, in her good ol’ power puff girl pajamas, hair in a messy bun, nerd glasses hanging off her nose as she peered down at the label of greek yogurt - an epitome of beauty - and she thought she was being _followed._ By who? The fashion police?

But, try as she might to laugh away her wild idea, her skepticism did not leave her. She shuffled along a few meters and took a turn towards the meat section. It was a long empty corridor. She hesitated. If she took this aisle, she could not get out of it until at the very end, where it met the check out counter. 

She could make a run for it, but her sneakers had smooth rubber soles. She would look like a fool if someone were to see her running down the aisle like a third grader, only to have her ass skid onto the nicely polished floor. So she settled for a haphazard trot, pushing and pulling at her shopping trolley as the floor turned tricky on her. Somehow, she managed to get to the checkout counter. She abandoned her trolley along with he groceries that she had only spent about an hour to carefully pick and rushed out of the store. 

She was being watched. She knew it.

She rushed to her car. She let out a sigh when she saw a couple snogging in the dimly lit street across from her, but nobody else. The lot had a few other cars, but no people in it. Well, better an indecent couple to accompany her, than Jack the Ripper, thank you very much. 

She shut her car door with an unnecessary force, causing a loud bang to tear through the silent night. She wanted to scream ‘help’. But it was nine at night, there were only two people she could see in her field of vision, and she was still trying to convince herself that she will go home, shut the door and laugh at herself for her wild imagination. After all, she still could not _see_ her stalker. 

She let a frustrated huff, and put on her seat belt. She just wanted this unsettling feeling to go away. She wanted to go home. 

She started her car, and -

She _screamed._

There, right in front of her, cast in the beams of her car’s headlights, stood a pale figure, with liquid, silver eyes. Eyes that were trained on her. 

She pulled the reverse gear, made a hasty retreat and got out of the parking lot. She checked the rear-view mirror as she was about to exit a long narrow lane, and enter a main road. There were no cars behind her, and as she took a turn, nor where there any in front of her. 

She was downtown, and it was Friday night. A month earlier, the pavements would have been bustling with shoppers and couples out on date, roads would have flooded with traffic. But not this week. It had snowed pretty heavy the entire week. Schools were closed and a lot of businesses were shut, too. It was not a good night to be feeling hunted by a stalker. 

Two seconds later she made up her mind. She found it on the back seat, thrown carelessly earlier in the evening, when she didn’t think she would need a nearly dead phone to go shopping with her. She picked it and powered it up. She sighed when she saw the angry red “3%”. 

She hit speed dial. The dial went on longer than it usually did, and she whispered prayers into the night that it should be picked up. 

And it was. 

“Arya?” came a tired, but familiar voice, at which a burst of warmth rushed through her. She could almost believe she was back home, safe from her pursuer already. 

“ _Arya?”,_ he said again, clearly perturbed by the lack of reply. 

“Jon!” said Arya, her voice coming out like a violent pluck at a tightly stretched string. “Jon, its probably just my imagination, and you and I are gonna laugh at me for being such a scaredy cat, but Jonithinkimbeingfollowed.”

“You need to slow down, little sister, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said I’m being followed Jon! There’s someone behind me, not now, I mean, at the supermarket, and before that, at the bank, and yesterday, too, I think. I don’t know who it is, and then, oh god Jon, I saw him. Right in front of my car! I don’t know if he’s got a car, I don’t know if he’s following me now. I know some karate, but I can’t kick people I can’t see!”

“Where are you?” snapped Jon. She could here his loud breathing, possibly because she had rattled him. Good. So was she. “I will come get you.”

If only that could happen! Jon was more than five hundred miles away. 

“You can’t, Jon,”  said Arya, chidingly, “You are at Icewall, if you have forgotten that little detail. I called you to ask you what I should do, other than breaking speed-limits like a pro.” She still had a firm hand on the wheel, but her feet - she wasn’t sure she had full control over. 

“I’m here in Felltown, home, came down to take a break, wanted to surprise you, and now that that’s ruined, tell me where in the seven hells you are so I can get your ass back home. Safe.”

“Oh,” said Arya, a little angry at not having been informed about his return. 

“Arya!” Jon shrieked. 

Arya gave him the location, but told him she wasn’t stopping the car.

“You don’t have to,” said Jon, “You are safe as long as you are inside the car. Keep moving. I’m ten minutes away. You head home. I will be behind you soon.”

“Yeah,” snorted Arya, “So now its _your_ turn to stalk me. Way to make me feel comfortable, Jon.”

“Not funny, Arya,” warned Jon. 

Arya heard him start his car through the line. She hung up and threw her phone back where it came from. 

At least, she’d be safe when Jon’s the one stalking her.


	2. Rising

Arya had a restless night’s sleep. She woke up, well into the day, but the clouds must have been dense because her room was cast in a murky light. A strong smell of roasted coffee and peppermint came wafting through from behind the closed door of her bedroom. She sighed, and thought _Jon._

When she came down, she found him peering at the newspaper, sipping coffee. It was comical, the sight of this melancholic man, trying to fit inside her tiny kitchen, with a mug in his hand that had a flower print on it. His dark clothes and grouchy expression was in odds with the well lit, airy room.

She dragged a chair and plopped down across from him. “Gimme my coffee”, she whined, closing her eyes and resting her chin on the table.  

“Get it yourself,” said Jon, from behind the newspaper.

“Why do you have to be so unsociable?” whined Arya, feeling tired and therefore, cranky.

She got up and poured herself a cup. She glanced at her brother. Jon was still deep into whatever was written on the stupid newspaper, and hadn’t bothered to even glance at her. It irritated her to no end.

“Did you come here all the way to read the fucking newspaper?”

“It’s nine and you are just awake,” said Jon, his voice sounding reasonable, “I’ve had to entertain myself for an hour or so. Let me finish this.”

Arya placed her mug back on the counter and put her hands on her hips. “You were back home since Thursday, yet you were hiding god knows where and now you are complaining about having to entertain yourself and accusing me of _sleeping_?”

“I told you, Arya,” said Jon, like he was exasperated, “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What surprise? You come here every other fortnight!,” said Arya, suspicion raising along with her voice, “That makes no sense whatsoever. You were hiding from me!”

Jon scowled at her, and put down his coffee a little harder than necessary. “I had just driven for almost ten hours. I wanted some sleep. So I stayed at a motel out of town and thought I’d surprise you in the morning, when I was well rested and in a better mood. I _wasn’t_ hiding from you.”

Arya glared at him, too, because even if Jon was right, he really had no business talking to her like that - with all that anger and irritability.

“Well, fine!” snapped Arya. 

It was wondrous how they always ended up arguing about something or the other. They hadn’t been like that before. Jon had been a sweet heart, always there to defend his little sister from her bullies. Not that she couldn’t take care of them herself, mind you. Still, the nine year old tom boy had loved having a champion around. But that was when they were young and their world had been a little bigger, more crowded.  

Jon finished his coffee, folded his newspaper and gave Arya an once-over. She knew what she must have looked like. Bedraggled and surly, a scowl to match her brother’s. 

“Do you have any idea who it could be?” said Jon. 

“I have a lot of enemies,” said Arya, catching his thread of thought, “I have a huge list in fact. But I can’t decide who would want to kill me most. It could be Waters. I broke his hammer last week.”

“Arya,” said Jon, warningly.

“I don’t know, Jon,” admitted Arya, “I’m starting to think I got a little imaginative there. I mean I have no evidence that anybody wants to harm me. It was all just - _a feeling_.

“And then you saw him.”

“It could have been anyone,” said Arya, dubiously.  

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you would have freaked out over nothing,” said Jon, a small twitch to his lips, “But we can’t rule out anything or do anything about this unless this guy tries to contact you more directly.” Jon’s face darkened at that. “Let’s hope it does not come to that. It won’t go so well for him.”

“I don’t need for you to beat up people for me,” said Arya, snottily, “I can do that myself.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jon.

“I so can!” said Arya, standing up and getting in the mood for some action. She would feel so much better if she could punch that smirk off of her brother’s face.

“Wanna bet?” She showed a fist and nodded at the five by five space in the kitchen. “I can show you some moves if you like. You can learn.”

“Sit down, Arya,” said Jon, sighing.

“I won’t,” said Arya, vehemently, “Come on, get up. You think I’m a coward don’t you. You think I got scared for no reason at all. You think I’m that kinda girl who would just run with her-”

“What are you even _talking_ about?” Jon broke in, “I never said anything like that. You said that. Sit down, girl. I don’t think you are a coward. Calling for help when you are in a tight spot is the normal thing to do. And you behaved nothing like coward, yesterday.”

Arya wasn’t so sure about that, though. She was proud of the fact that she depended on no one. She was a self made woman, who was afraid of next to nothing. She had gotten into bar fights, walked streets alone at midnight carrying groceries, partied in shady parts of the town, and woken up on strangers’ beds. She really could take care of herself. But _this_ \- this was something else. 

She had been invisible most of her life - nondescript, passable, and completely forgettable -  _Arya Underfoot,_ they called her. And this was attention she was getting, wasn’t it? The wrong sort of attention. It rattled her to the core, as hard as that was to admit. 

“Listen,” said Jon, getting up and coming over to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and Arya was forced to look into those dark grey eyes that were so like her own. “There’s no shame in wanting help, Arya. At least, not from me. You know that, don’t you?”

Arya looked away. She felt like she was nine again, and that Jon was still the center of her world. She shrugged off his hand and stepped away from him.

Grabbing what was left of her coffee, she said, “I did call you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” said Jon, agreeably. 

Then they stood there, in the small cold kitchen, a few feet apart and stared at each other. Grey eyes conveying where words would always remain unspoken. Arya felt like she was under a spell, and she could almost recognize the spell, too. 

And, then -

“Well what are you just standing there for?” said Arya, loudly, trying to clear the air. 

Jon blinked. 

“Breakfast’s not gonna make itself.”

***

Arya set down the cutlery and turned to fill some water in the jug, when the doorbell rang.

“I will get it. Probably a courier,” said Arya, looking up.

“No, I’ll go,” said Jon, “Finish setting up fast. I’m hungry.”

She did just that. She carried the jug back to the table, checked the pancakes for the ninth time just to make sure they were still there, maple syrup oozing and all. She didn’t stop herself from sticking a her finger in it and licking it. She put the lid back on and sat down.

“Jon, are you coming?” hollered Arya.

She waited for few seconds. No reply.

“Jon!” she tried again. After a beat, “What the hell is taking him so long?”

She got up and made her way to the living room.

“- so stay the fuck away or I’m calling the cops,” she heard Jon speak to someone in a tone he reserved for very few.

Arya sped up and tried to peer over Jon’s shoulder who was blocking her field of vision. Jon sensing her behind him turned, pushed her away from the entrance and banged the door shut behind him. It all happened so fast Arya couldn’t get a glimpse of who it was on the other side.

“Jon, who was that?” said Arya, shakily. Last night’s memories came flooding back to her mind. The way those eyes had looked at her.

“Some creep with bleached hair and ear studs,” said Jon, his face red with anger and fist clenched hard, “Claiming to be your boyfriend. I told him to fuck off. Think we can safely assume he is the one who’s been following you around. I-”

Arya cut him off on his rant.

“Wait, what? Boyfriend!” said Arya, her voice several octaves higher.

“That’s what he said,” said Jon, walking to her and putting both his hands on her shoulder, “Don’t worry, I think he’s got the message now. We even know what he looks like. If he tries anything funny, we will go straight to the police.”

Arya pushed him off and glared at him. “The hell you will! Are you mad?”

Jon completely taken off-guard, looked stricken.

“Jon, he is my boyfriend!” Arya hurried to get to the door, before anymore damage could be made.

Aegon was standing at her porch, as she had thought, typing away furiously on his phone, a deep frown on his face. When he heard the door open he looked up with face that held something to panic.

“Arya!” he shouted and in the next instant she was lifted up into the air, and engulfed in his warm embrace. Arya inhaled his smell - the smell of burnt wood and incense, and smiled.

“Arya, I was so worried,” he said. He put her down and searched her face. “You are safe, that’s good.”

He hugged her once more, hands wandering to the back of her neck and cradled it, making her look up.

“You haven’t answered my calls or messages,” he said, frowning from behind his long, silver bangs that fell across his eyes. “The last time we spoke you told me somebody was watching you, and then all of a sudden you are just gone. Puff. What was I supposed to think?”

Arya felt herself redden.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” said Arya, sounding sheepish even to her own ears, “My phone was out, and Jon came back home and I…got caught up with things.”

Aegon didn’t press her about what she got caught up with. He wasn’t the sort to and she liked that about him.

“That’s Jon, then?” said Aegon, cocking his head in the direction of the house. “Your brother?”

Arya whisked around to see Jon standing at the door, leaning onto the side with an unreadable expression on his gravely face.

“He doesn’t take surprises well,” said Arya. She watched her brother pull out a cigarette and make his way back inside the house. Arya hated the smell of it, and Jon knew she hated it.

“Nor the idea of you having boyfriends, it would seem,” smirked Aegon, his purplish-blue eyes twinkling in mischief. “Are you going to be grounded for being naughty?” He wiggled his eyes suggestively.

“Shut up,” said Arya, swatting him lightly, but smiling again. She ran her hand on his biceps. They were lean, but muscular. She had missed him, she realised. Looking up, she said, “Do you wanna have breakfast with us? There’s pancakes, and OJ. I’m sure there will be enough for three.”

Aegon glanced towards at the house, then back at her. “You really think that’d be a good idea?”

“Well, no,” said Arya, honestly.

Aegon took her hand and entwined their fingers. Arya was still getting used to such intimacy.

“Maybe, you should have told him about us,” said Aegon, somber.

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” said Arya defensively, “It just didn’t come up, that’s all.”

Aegon didn’t reply right away.  He had a frown on his face when he said, “I know how important he is to you Arya. He’s the only family you got anymore.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“But they are not Jon,” said Aegon, sharply, “And I know his opinion matters to you a lot. I don’t begrudge you that. I mean he’s been there for you all these years, seen you through tough times, paid for your college, helped you with the house. Nobody can compare to that. But -”

“Sshh,” said Arya, placing a finger on his lips.

Aegon took her hand away, and clutched it. He  looked at her with fire in his eyes and said,  “But he is not going to get between us.”

Arya had met Aegon at Essos University. They hadn’t been more than passing acquaintance back then. Aegon had been popular with the girls and teachers, and Arya with neither. They had been worlds apart then. But a chance meet at a party thrown at Gregjoy’s had sparked something in between them. That something seemed to grow with each passing day. Like wildfire.

“Two things,” said Arya, in a matter-of-fact tone, “One, I have paid off my debts to Jon, so I’m his slave no more. And secondly, I would like to see him try.”

Aegon kissed her then, as the smell of maple syrup and cigarette came wafting from inside the house, and the clouds darkened promising a snowy night.

***

They ate in silence. That was not very unusual for them. Jon wasn’t talkative, and Arya wasn’t an overly cheerful person. But this silence wasn’t a comfortable one. Half way through her third grilled sausage, Arya broke it.

“If you have something to say, say it,” she said, putting her fork down a little harder than necessary.

Jon looked up from his plate and held her gaze. He took his time to chew his food, nonchalantly.

“I have nothing to say,” he said, once he finished, in a tone that betrayed no emotion.

Arya hadn’t expected that.

“Look, I know you are pissed off -”

“I don’t care,” said Jon, and for all the world he looked like he didn’t. Then, he added, “Who you sleep with is none of my business.”

Arya took that like a slap to her face.

“I love him!” said Arya, sounding defensive even to her own ears.

Jon did not even deem it necessary to indicate that he had heard that. He simply kept eating.

“You didn’t tell me about Ygritte!” snapped Arya, pointing her knife at the man across from her, accusingly. At the mention of his ex-girlfriend’s name, Jon’s facade broke, and he gave her a look that said she had crossed a line.

Their relationship had been little more than a summer fling, it had ended abruptly when Ygritte had been killed in a freak accident. Something went wrong at the reactor where the both of them worked: Jon took steel to his back, and Sam Tarly went unscathed, but Ygritte paid with her life for it. For Jon to find closure, it had taken him a solid year. Mentioning her name had become a taboo. What more, Arya couldn’t remember a single other girl he had been with since Ygritte. Maybe he had loved her, the way she now loved Aegon.

In that instant she wanted to hurt Jon.

“I love him,” said Arya, her voice sharp like broken ice, “I might even marry him someday, whether or not you like it.” With that she got up, taking her half-eaten plate along with her. She was done with breakfast.

***

Throughout the day they spoke little, and what was said was said out of necessity. She stayed in the garage till noon, tinkering with her car. There was some rust on the back that needed some attention, and she had noticed some oil leakage that had to be fixed. She didn’t believe in depending on a mechanic; she loathed the idea of a stranger’s hands on her precious Needle.

When she entered the house she couldn’t find Jon so she assumed that he was in his room. But then she heard a loud whirring noise go off somewhere. She forgot the grime that was there on her hands as she opened the door to their backyard, creasing the knob black.

Arya found Jon naked from the waist above, holding what looked like a saw, working on her fence. She cast a look around, taking in the weather. It hadn’t snowed yet that day. But it sure as hell wasn’t idle for dallying around with no shirt on. She had no interest in taking care of a pneumonic brother, thank you very much.

But as she approached to give him an earful, she noticed the rivulets of sweat that slid of his back. Shocked, she froze mid stride, staring at the way his muscles flexed, as he worked on the fence. Then, without thought, she traced her fingers on his back, trying to feel the fire that was emitting from him.

Jon turned fast as a whip, and caught her hand. His eyes looked crazed for a moment, then they widened in recognition.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, tightening his grip on her hand.

Arya winced, but held fast.

“You are burning,” she said, searching his eyes to check for redness “Do you have the flu?” She tried to raise her other hand to feel his forehead, but he moved his face out of reach.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from shouting. She glared at him instead. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” Arya challenged him.

Jon frowned, fixing her with an expression that made her feel like a dirty insect. He let go of her and without another word turned away. He picked up his saw, started working on the jagged end of the fence, and went back to ignoring her.

She hadn’t asked him to fix her fence. She hadn’t asked him to do her any favors. But that was the new Jon. Rude and silently resourceful.

“I’m fine,” he said, conveying without words that he wanted her gone.

Arya stood there for a minute, looking at her brother who was sweating at minus fifteen. Once they had been best friends, with no secret between them, not a single thought that went unshared. But now there was an ocean that kept them apart and she was drifting towards unchartered waters, from where there was no return.

Helpless and frustrated, she started her way back inside. Then remembering, she hollered, “I’m grabbing dinner with Egg. Do you want me to fix something for you before I leave?”

She got no reply. She banged her backyard door shut and swore she would never speak to Jon Stark again.

***

Arya had made plans to pick up Aegon at seven.

She decided on a comfortable plaid woolen shirt, skinny corduroy pants, knee length boots and a heavy fur coat that she was borrowing for the night. At six thirty, she was dressed and was rummaging her drawers for her misplaced wallet. That’s when she heard Jon’s _Longclaw_ roar downstairs. She peeped out of her bedroom window, and sure enough, her brother was backing his ginormous car out of the garage.

She stood there watching the silhouette of the car disappear into the foggy night.

She sighed.

The wallet, she found a few minutes later, was wedged between her dresser and her stereo system. She opened it out of habit to check the bills inside. Her eyes fell on the small picture she kept tucked on one side.

It was Jon.

Not the Jon she had just watched leave - the Jon who sulked, snapped and made her pull out her own hair. It was a younger Jon, who had a satisfied smile on his face, and a possessive arm around a midget, who shared his long face and dark hair. Arya absentmindedly ran her thumb on the photo, as if doing so would call up a genie who could make that smile a reality.

She sighed again.

She remembered the day this picture was. It was before the big accident that changed their life and threw the surviving Starks in different directions. Jon had been in high school, and Arya five years younger, in junior high. She had signed up for football tryouts and not surprisingly, made the team. But the school hadn’t been able to afford the gear, and it had fallen on the parents to buy it for kids if they wanted to play. Catelyn had straight out refused to spend money on a sport that would only give her daughter more reason to be wild. Ned couldn’t cross the line his wife had drawn. In the end it was Jon who had spent from his meager savings to get Arya a place in the team.

The picture she held was taken the day Arya won her first game.

Abruptly, she closed her wallet and threw it into the satchel she was carrying.

It was time to make a move.

***

The _Hound_ was a busy place on weekend nights. But Arya and the owner of the place had a mutual understanding - she got the seats whenever she wanted and he got free tickets to the Westeros Football League, every season. He wasn’t a pleasant man, but Arya wasn’t known to be friends with such kind.  
  
Clegane gave her a mock salute when he noticed her, which Arya returned with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Aegon coughed behind her, and put an arm around her waist. He seemed to think Clegane had a thing for her. Arya knew for a certainty, Clegane had a thing for her sister, who was at that moment very far away.

They took their seats beside the pool table and ordered food and a couple of drinks.

“We are yet to go on a proper date, you know?” said Aegon, putting his hands front of him and trying to get hold of Arya’s. “Like a proper restaurant, or a movie or a dancing club. The sort of thing the normal couples do?”

“And we never will,” said Arya, giving him a cheeky smile, “I don’t like to wear dresses, I can’t sit for two hours straight in the same place and I’m not good at dancing. You have got the wrong girl, Egg.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’m dating a guy,” he said, getting hold of her hand and bringing it to his lips. He gave it a light kiss, one that Arya barely felt.  
  
“But you know better,” said Arya, her cheeks heating up at the display of affection. She remembered the night they had spent with each other, when they had gotten to know each other intimately. The only night. Aegon below her, writhing hot and breathing fire, sending her to places she had never been before.

That had been the night before the _watching_ started.

Watching…Somebody was watching her.

Arya stood up abruptly. Aegon rose with her and was saying something to her. But she couldn’t hear him. The only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat.

She scanned the crowd. There were too many of them. There were a group of eight men playing pool, college kids, two ladies in the bar counter, a couple two tables down the line, an elderly pair in the next table, some more college kids and many more. A lean looking bespectacled man who sat facing in her direction her a glance, turned away, caught her gaze, frowned, shuffled in his seat and turned away again.

Arya two steps in his direction but then noticed another pair of eyes. A lady in her mid forty, eyes curious. Another man to her left, thirty something with a big belly. No, these people were looking at her because she looked like a crazy person who wanted to have a stare down match with anybody who turned her way. They weren’t watching.

“Arya!” asked Aegon taking her elbow and pulling her close to him, “What’s going on?”

“He’s here,” said Arya, turning back at Aegon and slumping down onto her seat. “I can feel him watching”

Aegon moved from his seat across from her and sat down beside her. He held her close and whispered, “Tell me who it is, Arry. I’ll make sure he gets locked up in Harrenhall and stays there for the rest of his life.”

“Not sure if the court gives out lifetime for stalking, Egg,” said Arya, neutrally, but felt beyond unsettled. Yet again, she was falling prey to her own shadows.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Aegon. He tapped restlessly on the table and looked around the bar glaring at anybody who dared look in their direction.

“No,” said Arya, slowly, then again, "No. I don't think so. That is exactly what he wants, for me to be scared and run like a little girl.”

Aegon looked at her, strangely. 

“How do you know what he wants Arya? You don’t even know who he is,” said Aegon, shaking his head.

“Then let’s find out what he wants,” said Arya, and that was that.

***

It took Arya some effort, but she forced herself to relax. Aegon seemed to find it harder. He kept jerking his leg in a nervous gesture. The food and drinks arrived. Aegon went for his beer quicker than a wink.

“So how is your work on the King’s Road coming along?” asked Arya, grabbing some fries. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Aegon worked for the Stormborn Construction company. The King’s Road was an interstate the Westeros Government had commissioned them to renovate. Aegon also had a large stake in the company. Meaning, her boyfriend came from big bucks, and talk of his work usually distracted him.

“Not as well as I’d like it to,” said Aegon, “New complications have come up. There are some encroachment issues south of the Twin City. These people have been there for a long time, so now they think they own these lands. We are trying to work out a resettlement plan. It’s not working out in our favor. The Faith wants to get involved, too. So yeah…not that great.”

The Faith was the human rights department of the ruling government. Or at least it claimed to be that.

“Can’t Dany help?” said Arya.

“She doesn’t want to appear biased towards her own company. You know how she’s like,” said Aegon, shrugging.

“Yeah,” said Arya. Daenerys Targareyan was running for office. Too put it simply, she was an ambitious woman and once she wanted something she got it, no matter the means. Lately, she’s been after the Iron Government.

“So you will be gone next week I suppose?” she asked conversationally.

Aegon put down his fork and knife and held her hand. “If you want me here, I’ll be here.”

“What for?” Arya shook her head. “Besides Jon’s here. He’ll be around for a while.”

At the mention of Jon’s name, Arya felt something strange. She couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but it felt alien. She rubbed her temple and drank some water.

“You know, I was a little surprised when I saw him today,” said Aegon, taking his hand away from her. He bent his head down and took a bite of lasagna he was having. He looked like he was trying to stall answering that question.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s..er,” said Aegon, looking up, then back down.

“He’s what?” asked Arya. Aegon wasn’t one to beat around the bush. She didn’t understand why he was doing it now.

“Well,” he said, in a small voice, “when I met him today, I thought he was your stalker.”

Arya snorted.

“You don’t need to be so coy about it,” said Arya, rolling her eyes, “He thought the same about you.”

Aegon paused.

Then said, “Is he always so very intense?”

“I suppose so,” said Arya, feeling uncomfortable, suddenly. She didn’t want to discuss Jon.

“Funny,” said Aegon, but there was no mirth in his voice, “from the way you described him I thought he would be a fluff toy or gay or both. Kinda puts you living with him in a different picture altogether.”

“Aegon!” said Arya. She would have been offended if she hadn’t been so surprised, “He’s my brother!”

“Adopted brother,” said Aegon, narrowing his eyes, “He’s only your cousin really.”

“For fuck’s Aegon!”, hissed Arya, putting her cutlery down with a force that nearly knocked off her plate. “So what are you saying? That we are fucking each other behind you back?”

“God’s sake,” said Aegon, face screwed up in disgust as if he has just visualized what Arya had said, “All I meant is he’s way too…..weird. Is all.”

“Shut up,” said Arya, as calmly as she could, “One more word of Jon and I’m out of here.”

Aegon grit his teeth. Then he visibly breathed out.

Arya was contemplating whether she should give him a broken nose anyway, when their waiter interrupted her. He placed a bright red drink with a little black umbrella on it.

Aegon and Arya both looked up questioning at the waiter.

“A gift from a guest,” said the man, smiling politely, “ _Red Death._ Vodka and cranberry. Let me assure you, it’s one of the best cocktails we make here.”

“Who?” demanded Aegon, ignoring the waiter’s boasting. Wheels were already turning in his head, Arya knew. Although, sometime back she had lost track of the unnerving feeling of someone watching her, she knew the drink could be from no one else.

“The guest didn’t leave a name,” said the waiter, still smiling, and ignoring the look of anger that was directed at him. “But he did leave a note for you, Sir.”

Arya grabbed at the piece of paper before Aegon could beat her to it. The waiter was startled, but said nothing.

The note wasn’t for her.

In a scratchy, slanted writing, it spelled out one word.

_‘Brother’._

***

By the time Aegon and Arya stepped out of the bar, the roads were covered with snow. The visibility wasn’t that great either, and a storm that night was inevitable.

“Let’s go back inside,” said Aegon, his eyes scanning the lot. White, everything was white - trees, trash cans, lamplights and car roofs. The kind of sight Aegon was unused to, Arya was sure.

“It was your idea to leave,” said Arya, throwing him an irritated look, “Besides, the weather is only going to get worse.”

Arya pulled her coat’s hood over her head and closed her nose with her muffler. She trudged out into the snow, making her way towards Needle. Behind her Aegon stood still. She had almost reached her car when he came running after her, yelling.

“You can’t seriously think of driving in this weather! I can hardly see what’s ten feet ahead of me!”

“Chill out,” said Arya, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend. Said boyfriend’s cheeks were now a scarlet red. “I’m not a southerner for heaven sake. It’s just a little snow.” She unlocked her car and got in. She turned on the heater and got rid of her coat. Aegon climbed in, reluctantly.

Arya rolled out of the lot, maneuvering the car with ease. Soon they got onto the single lane arterial road that led into the suburbs. It should be a half an hour drive to Aegon’s place, Arya predicted. They would be in the confines of his overly warm house before the storm really set in. She should have assured her boyfriend, maybe. But she had things in mind that prevented her from doing so.

“You didn’t say you had a brother,” said Arya, conversationally.

“Arya,” said Aegon, like she should know better than to ask, “I don’t have a brother.”

“Right,” she said, showing her frustration on the accelerator. Needle skidded a foot sideways before Arya got it back under control.

“Arya!” Aegon had his hands gripping the dashboard tight. “You bloody northerners!’

“So tell me who it was, who calls you a brother,” said Arya.

“How am I supposed to know!” Aegon was shouting. Maybe she shouldn’t scare him too much with her driving.

“Aren’t you worried that you might be the one who’s responsible for all weird stuff that’s happening to me?”

That got Aegon’s attention away from the road.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Aegon, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

“Your _brother_ is the one who’s stalking me what I’m saying. And if so, it’s only because I’m seeing you, that this is happening.”

Aegon didn’t give her a reply. She glanced at him. He was glaring at the windshield.

Arya thought she should feel guilty to be throwing accusations at her boyfriend when she knew he wouldn’t do anything that could bring her harm. But something in her told her, she was right. Aegon having a brother somehow felt right. A brother who shared his blood and fire.

She reached out with the hand and patted Aegon’s knee. “Your brother knows about your love for cranberry? Or does _Red Death_ h mean something else?”

“Arya,” said Aegon, his voice a sharp steel, “I _do not_ have a brother.”

“You can’t be sure,” said Arya, without caring for the fact that she was agitating him,”Ask Dany. She would know.”

“I’m not goi-”

Just then, Aegon was cut off by the shrill sound of a cell phone going off. Arya dug her hand into her satchel, without taking her eyes off the road.

It was Bran.

“Let me take it,” offered Aegon, sounding like himself again. “You concentrate on the road.”

Arya took the call.

“Arya…are…car?”

“Hello, Bran?”

“Snow….Aegon!”

“Hello?”

“Ca-!…..dent!….. out!”

“Bran I can’t hear you!”

The tone went dead.

Aegon cursed beside her.

Arya dialed her brother back, but before she could place it near her ear, Aegon tried to grab it from her. Arya pushed him off, the car swerved, and the phone fell off from her hand, and hit her foot. Arya caught the car before it could dip off to the side into the steep barren fields that ran along the road.

Aegon screamed.

“You are going to kill us both! GODDAMIT ARYA!”

Arya slammed the brakes, and the car squealed, turned a ninety degree, the back wheels lifted and after a few seconds of hanging in the air, fell back with a huge lurch.  

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”  

“Bran!,” shouted Arya, “Bran is in trouble! I know it. I need to call him.” She bent down and searched for her phone. But she couldn't’ even see her own feet, that’s how dark it was.  

“Arya we are in the middle of a single lane road!”

Arya ignored him. She switched on the lights in the car and opened her car door. She got on the road and bent to retrieve her phone. She found it underneath the clutch and grabbed it. When she straightened up, she felt that something was wrong. Before she could analyze where that thought came from, Aegon shouted again.

“Arya! Get inside!”

There, to the left, there were two dots in the dark emptiness. A car.

Arya got in, started up the car. Then, with curiosity, she looked up.  Surely, she must have been mistaken. The car lights should have been to her right. No left.

But no. A car was heading in their direction, the headlights getting closer at a constant speed, but more importantly on the wrong side of the road.

“Fuck.” Her first reaction was to go in the reverse. But how far could she go? She made her headlights blink, on and off, on and off. But the car didn’t slow down.

“He must be drunk,” whispered Aegon, a look of panic written on his face. Arya glanced at him, her feet jerking between accelerator and brake. The median strip was four feet high, with trees growing on it, and to the side, the fields lay eight feet below. She had to make a choice. Her hand found the horn and made it blare. The bee-like dots became bulbs, then bigger, brighter, broader.

She had twenty seconds to make a choice.

“Arya we need to -”

“NO!”

Eighteen.

Aegon grabbed her, Arya hit him.

Sixteen.

Aegon got off the car, ran to her side and opened the door.

“Needle! I can’t! I can't her burn!”

“Arya don’t be stupid!”

Ten.

Arya fought him with all she could. It was only an eight feet drop. Needle would get damaged but she could salvage it. She couldn’t lose Needle. That was out of the question. Jon gave her Needle.

Jon.

_Jon._

Five.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. And as she felt herself getting pulled out of the car, her legs stumbling beneath her, and falling on top of Aegon over the median and onto the opposing lane, she had her eyes trained on the jeep that came rushing towards her car. With horror, she realized she recognized the car.

Three.

Aegon lifted Arya off the road and lunged onto the other end of the road, making them both roll down, and hit the field of solid ice below.

One.

The dark of the night was disturbed by the blast from the two vehicles, and light and fire exploded. Longclaw met Needle, and sealed her fate with a final kiss.

Arya screamed.

 


	3. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Past

Winter had receded and spring was in the horizon. The folk of Winter Town started vacating their temporary abodes and were seen taking the long journey south, in large groups. The castle that oversaw the town was alive after a long sleep. Stable boys ran around ushering horses, squires fell over themselves carrying out their master’s instructions. Gardeners and farmers were busy readying the soil for new crop, cooks and their help creating lists and clearing out the storage. The knights were once again out in the yard, practising their swords and spears and thrusting it at friends rather than strangers like they had gotten used to in the long winter.

  
The King in the north was out inspecting the renovation work at the Bell Tower. The uppermost landing was almost completely covered in scaffolding and scattered stones and ropes of different sizes hung from the roof. The builders had worked true to their coin, and the walls sprang up faster than stones could be procured. He had relieved them for the day claiming spent men were liken to make errors in design. But that was not the true reason why he had wanted the tower deserted.

  
Jon looked down the window from where Bran fell. Songs had been sung about the fall that had started it all. Jon had heard the story from his brother’s own mouth, and he wished he could feel the terror that his brother must have felt when he saw down the tallest tower in Winterfell even long after. But the fall had been a long time ago, and Jon had re-written the memories he associated with the Bell Tower.

  
A rustle from behind him drew Jon away from his thoughts. He smiled but did not turn to look at the intruder.  
“The princess seems to have taken missteps one too many,” said Jon, as a thin hand clutched his shoulder. His blood rushed south and his heartbeat quickened. He took the hand in his and swung the intruder around so he could see those grey, knowing eyes. “Has the castle grown too knotty you, little sister?”

  
Arya Stark, the Princess of Winterfell, Warden and the rightful Queen in the North, rolled her beautiful eyes and replied with snark. “Perchance you don’t know this, your grace, but you sound like a forlorn wife.”

  
“That I am,” said Jon, taking in her attire. Riding breeches and a dirty tunic, with her unruly hair held back by a piece of cotton thread. Around he hip was a low belt from which her favored sword hung. She was never without it. “A forlorn wife,“ he repeated after her, absentmindedly.

  
He held her chin and tilted her face so he could look at her better, and watched as if in trance as her eyes widened uncertainly. There was a slight tremble to her lips that he would have missed had he blinked. She must have been conscious of it too, for she withdrew hastily, away from his arms and turned her back to him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming down and taking in the sight of her tight breeches that clung to her bottom.

  
“Where is Nymeria?” he asked, trying to rein in his imagination from running ahead of him - at least for the moment.

  
“She left to greet Ghost,” said Arya, shrugging, like he had asked a question he knew the answer to, “I bear some news from the Wall.”

  
“The news can wait,” said Jon. He closed the distance between them, again. Oh, how he longed to feel her warmth for more than just a fleeting moment. Her hair had grown longer in the month they had been apart. He reached out a brushed the bangs aside. Her neck was pale, but a smear of red appeared over it when he caressed it with his thumb. She stepped out of his reach yet again like a perturbed cat. He sighed. “If it were important, you would have sent a raven. Yet not a word arrived. I care not for these trivial reports of engineering and stones and weights. Sam would be much interested in them. There’s only one thing I wish to know.”

  
He forced her to face him, and leaned in close. She smelled of pine, smoked wood and winter. He felt tempted to kiss her, but he was more concerned with the answer she had for him.

  
“When are we to wed?”

  
If it were a different woman, or even a man there would have been a hint of reaction on the face of such an abrupt, untoward question. But no such thing from the former faceless women.

  
After a few minutes of silence, Arya spoke up, her lip pursed and voice neutral, “You still call me your little sister. What a strange husband you would make? Besides nothing has changed since the last time you asked me the same reckless question. You can’t marry me if you don’t let Dany legitimize your Targaryen name. If you do take up that cursed name, you can’t rule in the North. It is as plain as a summer’s day, you can’t marry me and hold Winterfell as yours, too.”

  
Jon tried to control his breathing with every word Arya spoke. Somehow, the way she spoke without emotion frustrated him more than if she had yelled at him at the top of her voice.

  
“I’d sooner be a beggar in the shadiest part of Bravos if that meant I could have you for my wife.”

  
Anger flashed in the silver grey of his sister’s - no, cousin’s eyes. “You would, wouldn’t you? What would you know of a beggar’s life?” Jon couldn’t say anything to that. What did he know, indeed! But faced with the possibility of losing Arya, this time to some obscure Lord or Prince from a distant land seemed like a dreadful future compared to losing all his pride and fortune. Dany, as Arya had taken to calling the Queen, was a powerful woman and dear friend of Arya ’s. How they came to be that, Jon had very little knowledge of, but he knew enough to know that the Queen cared for his sister, and by that extension will not stop until she saw her well married and well settled.

  
Arya didn’t let him voice his thoughts. There was no need to either. She knew him better than he did. “Would that it may,” she said, “but I will not have on my shoulder the blame of denying you your home and your right. If it means that I have to stand aside and watch as you marry a Tyrell or Frey or even a wildling and sire strange children with summer faces, then on my honour, that is what I will do.”

  
“And what of your heart?” cried Jon, grasping Arya by her arm and shaking her. He felt himself shake, too. Would this cursed woman forsake everything? Forsake him? Was Winterfell not her home, too? Did she not want to stay? His rage and anguish was beyond his control. “I want to put my cloak on your shoulder. I want to protect you and sire your children. I want a family with _you._ Does this not mean anything to you? You lay with me! Upon your honor, would you not marry the man you lay with? Where is the honor in that?”

  
His voice was echoing through the unfinished tower. Had someone stood below it, they would have recognized his voice and everything that he said. He did not worry overly about it, but his cousin did. She closed a hand over his mouth, her calloused fingers rough against his cheek. Her silver eyes bore into his, searching and pleading, “Why must you speak this way? Do I not do what needs be done? Do I not see to your every need? I have given you everything I can. My mind, my body and my sword.”

  
“But not your soul,” said Jon, taking her fingers away from and holding them tightly. He kissed the fingers and watched as her face lost the practised composure. She looked at where his hands covered hers, mutely. “Bind yours to mine, Arya. I do not demand a public wedding. Not even a private one. Let there be no ceremony at all. It can be just you and me, under the heart tree. Or the seven gods. Or the red god. I do not care.”

  
This wasn’t the first time Jon fought for a woman’s affection. As a child he had longed for Lady Stark to cast a tender glance towards him just once, or a kind word be spoken by Madame Septa. He had been awake praying the Old Gods for a mother to love him like the Stark children were loved. That had been a long time ago, but Jon still remembered the time he was five and had just been asked to sit with the peasants down the Great Hall, instead of the high table with his family. Arya rejecting him now, time and again was reminiscent of those times. But what an irony that was, for it had been her who had given him what he always craved, by calling him her brother, and family. Yet, she would not be more.

  
“You trust the Red God?” Arya bemusedly. Of all the things he had just said, only this seemed to have caught her fancy. “The Lord of the Light?” A breath later she said, “Have you foregone your ways Jon? Do you practice the Red religion now?”

  
“The Red God helped me find you,” said Jon, fiercely, “I haven’t forgotten my Gods or my prayers, but I do not hate the Red God. I owe him my heart.”

  
Arya laughed then, and it wasn’t one of those coy laughs that she threw towards unguarded men, nor was it the mirthless one that she reserved for him when they were alone. This was a hearty laugh, which reminded him of the little sister who ran after him wherever he went.

  
“You are a fool, Jon Snow,” said Arya, giggling, “A silly fool.”

  
Jon brought her closer than she already was. Her ample bosom was pressed against his chest. He let loose the cloth that held her hair together. It fell on her shoulder and covered her neck and the side of her face. She was beautiful, and he had told her this before, all those years ago. Dark hair against pale skin, face dotted with red on the cheeks as she laughed and eyes that were alive with mischief.

  
He kissed her. Tender at first, then deeply, pressing his fingers against the nape of her skull, drinking her wildness and wishing she were his own. She wouldn’t let him kiss her in peace and fought him, with tongue and teeth. He had to push her against a wall and force her legs apart with his body to show that he was the man. Even if he agreed with everything she said and did, when it came to her, Arya had no say. Arya was his. He told her so.

  
Arya laughed, but that quickly turned into a moan as Jon breached her. “Fine, Jon Snow,” she said, gasping as he fucked her, “I’ll marry you as your Red God watches.”

  
Jon didn’t say anything except her name. He said it again and again, savoring it each time he did so. He truly owned it now - her name, her love. He held her moist hair and her sweaty hip, and howled her name as he spilled inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi please I need a beta. And people do tell me if Jon sounds a little too OOC. I need inputs. Thanks for all the love.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not perfect. I'm constantly proof-reading and correcting it. If you want quicker updates, find me on tumblr @maya-lev. 
> 
> P.S: If anyone is interested in beta-ing this fic, please PM me. My writing sorely needs an editor. Thanks in advance.


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